


appeasing da loa

by naruhoe



Series: the tagalong (warcraft) [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Xenophobia, badly choreographed fight scenes, sketchy headcanons of troll druidism, tae'fon isn't who he says he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2020-12-23 18:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naruhoe/pseuds/naruhoe
Summary: Vartan Summerborn's accounting of his first, very bad, horrible, no-good encounter with troll druidism.





	1. one

Vartan had not been getting enough sleep of late, the blame for which he placed firmly on the shoulders of his unwanted companion. It was the middle of the night, and he was by then, firmly entrenched in the exhaustion the last three nights of no sleep had brought about. Being a light sleeper to begin with, Vartan had found it to be practically impossible to relax (much less _fall asleep_) with a full-grown troll barely two paces away from his sleeping spot. A troll. Sleeping next to a blood elf. A fortnight ago, Vartan would have laughed at the very idea. Now, it was merely an unfortunate reality. _His_ unfortunate reality. 

The troll was normally a heavy sleeper. The first two nights should have been evidence enough to attest to the fact, but, in a similar pattern, Vartan lay awake night after night, his mind performing ever-more sluggish mental gymnastics.

What if, right now, the troll decided to spring an attack? Vartan had a knife tucked under the pillow, his sword less than a foot away at the head of his sleeping roll. He would whip the knife out with his left, kicking out with his feet as he rolled backwards and snagged his sword with his right, and then, the air would smell of the copper tang of blood, arteries cut, flesh rent; a ruby deluge that watered the ground-- An unfamiliar sound at the peripherals of his hearing drew Vartan's admittedly impaired attention away from the half-constructed scenario in his head.

Chanting. The damn troll was _chanting_. 

Vartan lay very still, continuing to feign sleep and pointedly ignoring the spike of panic that shot through him. From the direction of the continuing chanting, it became immediately apparent that the troll wasn't where Vartan had left him for the first half of the night's watch. Which meant that Vartan hadn't heard him get up, which meant... Had he _dozed off_?? The elf gritted his teeth to combat the sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach, and turned the tattered vestiges of his attention to the chanting taking place behind him.

Cracking his eyes revealed the flickering glow of a fire on the wall of the cave, but there was something wrong with it. Something _off_. It was the right color, the right amount of dimness, but the way the light was disturbed, as if interrupted by a large shape crossing in front of it... Indeed, the shadows, bobbing and twisting as they flitted in and out of the dim light that flickered there on the cave wall, seemed to Vartan as if they were _dancing_.

Behind him, the rhythmic chanting continued, rising in pitch before it fell again, hushing to near uneasy silence only to rapidly increase in volume moments later. Hypnotic, shifting like the shadows on a cave wall, it almost seemed as if the lilting vowels and blunt consonants sought to transfix him, and several times, he found his attention wandering, his eyelids heavy. A yawn caught in the back of his throat and sat there, heavy as a stone.

The second time he found his mind drifting, Vartan, giving himself no time to prepare his mind, wormed a hand under his shirt and dug his nails hard enough to bruise into the tender flesh beneath his ribs, muffling the instinctual hiss that threatened to escape by biting down on the inside of his cheek. The elf blinked the sleep from the corners of his eyes and took a hard, measuring look up at the cave wall, gradually allowing the chanting from behind to filter back in by bits and pieces, each just as unrecognizable as the rest. The longer he looked, the more convinced he became that it hadn't been his imagination after all.

The shadows there moved like living creatures. Cavorting in and out of the light, some were many-legged, others slithering, others winged, yet more in shapes which Vartan had never seen before and could never have imagined. Some, eerily enough, appeared almost humanoid, but the way they moved... The elf found himself holding his breath at one point as he watched a particularly large shadow, which looked scarily like some variety of prowling feline beast, silently cross the bottom of the cave wall. Another shadow had wings, claws, and several snakelike protrusions from its back, and another, a hunched humanoid shape, danced wildly to an unheard beat, arms akimbo as it tossed its head back, and spun, and spun...

Eyes suspiciously dry, he blinked, and suddenly, the wall was entirely absent of its shifting shadows. It was at this point at which it came to Vartan's attention that the chanting had abruptly let off, leaving in its wake, an abrupt and uneasy silence. Ears drawing back minutely, the blood elf, having propped himself silently up on his elbows, slowly turned his head. The drag and trail of pale gold hair raised gooseflesh upon the pale nape of the elf's neck.

The night was dark, darker to Vartan's glow-dazzled eyes, but Tae'fon's pale form was unmistakable.

The troll, where he stood at the mouth of the cave, was illuminated by moonlight. It bathed him, brightening his already pale skin to near-brilliance. He was no longer Tae'fon, no longer a Horde scout, not even a troll anymore. He was something otherworldly, moon-bright and beautiful. It lit his features in profile, highlighting the aquiline curve of his nose, the slope of his brow. There was a sheen of moonlight that lit the strong tendons of his neck where he had turned his head to look out, creating shadows that pooled in the hollow of his throat and the side of his face opposite the outside of the cave. 

Tae'fon turned his head, shattering the picturesque illusion of a statue, and Vartan nearly jumped out of his skin. The troll was looking straight at him. In the moonlight, those brown eyes had taken on an uncanny silver cast. To his dismay, the elf couldn't quite convince himself that it was just a trick of the light. A deeper part of him cried out in alarm, and, distantly, he felt a prickling, as if the hairs at the back of his neck were standing on end. His pulse thudded dully in his ears. How loud his heartbeat seemed. Vartan half wondered if the troll, even across the cave from him, could hear it. He wondered what would become of him if the troll _did_ hear it.

For what seemed an eternity, troll and elf remained locked in a staring contest. Neither moved. Though the troll's chest rose and fell steadily, Vartan barely dared to breathe, not while the gaze of those ghostly hazel eyes remained upon him. There was something subtly_off_ about the troll. It was his eyes; the cool silver sheen that obscured their normal warmth. The teasing curve to his mouth was nonexistent, his expression blank, almost glazed, as if he were looking through Vartan rather than at him, like a predator determining whether it was to make the first move on unsuspecting prey.

Tae'fon growled lowly, an animal sound that seemed to rumble straight from the chest. Though there was no wind to speak of, the dying fire between them, reflected in Tae'fon's silver eyes, flickered. In that moment, Vartan knew instinctively that the game was up. 

The two of them moved at the same time, Vartan lunging for his sword, brows furrowed in concentration; the troll lunging for Vartan, teeth bared, an inhuman yowl on his lips. 

Vartan got to his sword first, bringing it up just in time to force the troll to a skidding stop in the dust lest he cut himself on the razor edge of Vartan's blade. Firelight gleamed in his eyes as the troll bared teeth that looked even sharper than normal in a guttural hiss, and Vartan was vividly reminded of their first encounter; how they had faced each other from opposite sides of the fire. Vartan brandished the blade threateningly. "Stay back." He warned, in a voice like steel, but the blade continued to hover uncertainly in the air as if unwilling to fall. 

Tae'fon lunged. Vartan's curse rang through the air. Blood spattered the ground in a wide arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did some research on troll druidism and ended coming up with that it is different than druidism taught by night elves or tauren and may or may not have something to do with the loa- as many things trollish do. So please excuse my heavy speculation about complicated relationships with the loa (which will be expanded upon in chapter two). As always, if you enjoyed, leave a comment or some kudos! COMMENTS ALWAYS MAKE MY DAY.


	2. two

For a moment, Vartan found himself overcome with the irrational fear that he had killed the fool. Blood still dripped in slow, fat drops from the end of his long blade. Its silver shone cold and unmerciful in the glow of tonight’s night’s full moon, which hung high in the midnight sky.

There was a pale silver form on the ground at his feet, crumpled in the dust where its body had hit the ground. Vartan’s breath hitched in his chest at the thought of moving, but he forced himself into it, gliding more than stepping over the troll’s prone form as he analyzed the slow rising and falling of the fool’s back. Alive. But unconscious. And bleeding from the wide laceration gaping like some sort of obscene red mouth across his ribs.

“_ Shit _,” Vartan hissed, spurred into action at last by the sight of the troll’s blood starting to pool in the dust beneath him. Jerkily, he sheathed his sword before he ripped a wide strip of cloth from the bottom of his tunic, only bemoaning the ruination of yet another of his garments for a moment before he pressed it to the troll’s side, applying enough pressure that he felt the troll’s ribs creak faintly. He eased up, but only slightly.

Unconscious. _ Why _was he unconscious?? It had been a slashing wound, not a pommel to the side of the head.

As Vartan knelt there, staunching the steady flow of shockingly dark red blood from pale flesh, he wracked his mind for any sort of explanation for tonight’s events. Drugs, maybe. Maybe it was drugs. Had the troll drugged his food?? No, they hadn’t even _ eaten _together… Vartan wasn’t a fool, after all. Trolls were untrustworthy creatures. Filthy, barbaric, untrustworthy creatures who weren’t supposed to be charming, or witty, or smell unbearably of the pleasant scent of crushed pine needles-

Damn his soul, he was getting off track again. The troll _ must _have put something in his food after all, Vartan resolved, lifting the cloth ever so slightly to check on the clotting, which was coming along nicely. 

Trolls were a tough breed. Hardy creatures. Only fire would keep a wounded troll from crawling off the battlefield to lick their wounds. Such a healing period was practically unheard of in another species, neither elf nor orc nor human, which was why the sin’dorei had come to despise the Amani so violently in the first years of settling Quel’Thelas. They were quick learners as well as being possessed of an uncanny healing refractory period. Leave one wounded troll on the battlefield, and a dozen more elves would fall within the week by way of a trollish raiding party. The sin’dorei had quickly learned to burn the bodies of their most bitter enemy at the end of every battle, burning hundreds, sometimes _ thousands _of corpses as they delved deeper into Amani territory, claiming it under the banner of the Sunwell, edifying it for their people. Vartan remembered well the scent of burning flesh on the breeze, even to this day.

When he felt the wound had clotted enough to remove the soiled cloth, Vartan considered how he would get the troll’s gangly form back into the relative safety of the cave. He was not sure he was equipped to carry several stone of young troll, and was in the midst of considering constructing a makeshift pallet to _ drag _him back in when a groan alerted him to the brown eyes starting to blink open once more.

“Oh. You’re alive,” Vartan said, none too eloquently. The brown eyes blinked up at him, large, confused, and gloriously caramel once more, no silver shine to be seen.

“No thanks ‘ta ya,” the troll said, in a rather reedier voice than his usual baritone. Vartan cleared his throat, only slightly mollified. “Well, yes,” he admitted, haughtiness slowly creeping back into his tone. “Though you can’t expect me not to defend myself.” Tae’fon shifted, obviously trying to sit up and groaning at the tug of torn flesh. If Vartan stepped in to offer a shoulder to lean on, it was only because he didn’t want to be attacked by a sabercat or whatever else might be lurking out there in the night, drawn by the scent of blood.

The both of them made their way back into the cave, Tae’fon uncharacteristically quiet for his usual chatty self. Vartan… Well, he didn’t quite know what to think. Where had those shadows come from? Why the chanting? The silver eyes? The abrupt unconsciousness?? Why had this crazy fucking troll _ attacked _him? Why hadn’t he just killed the stupid creature?? 

“-ey. _Hey, little 'mon?_”

Vartan sharply looked up, green eyes focusing in on the waving of the troll’s hand. “_ What _ ?” he snapped, taking even himself by surprise by the snappishness in his voice. But he wasn’t going to take it back. Why would he?? _ He _ wasn’t the one in the wrong here- not with the freaky shadows or that _ chanting- _

“-be saying, ‘is everything okay’?”

Was that… _ concern _in those brown eyes? Concern for Vartan’s sake when the stupid troll was the one bleeding from the jagged cut across his ribs. An acerbic comment rose in his throat, so sharp on his tongue that he could practically taste it. 

“What the hell was that?” Vartan spat, meeting those stupidly concerned eyes. He hated the confusion in them. Surely the troll was not so stupid as to have no idea to what Vartan was referring. That would just make his victory over Vartan that prompted this ridiculous deal in the first place all the more humiliating. A lone troll winning out over a seasoned sin’dorei ranger was practically unheard of. A disgraced sin’dorei ranger who had let himself lose to a troll for... _ dubious reasons, _ to say the least, was even worse.

Sure enough, understanding soon spread over Tae’fon’s face, giving his eyes a canny light that Vartan was not sure he trusted. “You be wanting to know about da loa?” Tae’fon asked. Vartan found his fraying temper only stoked by the hushed tone the troll had adopted. Whatever foolish trollish superstition a ‘loa’ was, he didn’t care.

“What? No! I want to know why you _ attacked _ me in the middle of the night-” Why he’d let his guard down in the first place was utterly beyond him, as was why he still felt so offended by said attack. Vartan chalked the lapse in judgement up to the confusion he felt for this troll, something he’d found himself doing ever since he lost and was subjected to this nightmare of a traveling companion. “-and why you’re acting like this is perfectly normal behavior because I can assure you that _ it is not _.”

In the aftermath of his outburst, Vartan realized that he had stood up and was currently pointing an accusatory finger at the troll. He was standing. Why was he standing? 

Of all the things to happen next, he hadn’t predicted Tae’fon to stand up, much less to approach him, but of course, that was exactly what the troll did, making a gentle clicking noise between his teeth, the same sort that one might use to calm a spooked animal, Vartan registered with no small amount of resentment.

“Do you know why the moon be sacred to da loa?” The troll’s voice was pitched low and soothing, at direct odds with the predatory smoothness to his gait. Vartan watched him approach, tamping down the instinct to draw his sword. 

“She represent de cycle of the hunt. Endless, it is, always turning o’er, renewing- giving life as often as she take it away. Your hunters- dey dislike a moonless night, do dey not? Hard to see. Easy to be ambushed.”

Vartan managed to muster his voice, practically transfixed by the other’s slow approach. His nerves tingled, as if warning him about the predatory gleam of the troll’s eyes, but he found he had little desire to move. “Rangers do not hunt by the light of the moon.” The Thalassian phrase came easily to him, enunciation softened by repetition._ “Anu belore dela’na. _”

Trollish superstition. It was all trollish superstition. A moonless night was no better than a full moon. 

Tae’fon nodded, as if agreeing, but continued to prowl closer. Vartan found himself seeing the gleam of silver in those brown eyes, but it was only a trick of the light this time. No prowling shadows lurked within that pale form. 

“A night witout the moon, it be a vulnerable time for a hunter. Dere be spirits who would lurk in the dark, waiting to be called upon. Da full moon- also a vulnerable time, but for different reasons.”

Close. The troll was close. He could smell the crushed pine and cured leather, the musk of his natural scent. Vartan noticed, with no small amount of surprise, that the wound in Tae’fon’s side had clotted together already, as if hours had already passed since the time he’d sustained it. His lips parted, but no words came. He could only watch as Tae’fon stepped into his personal space. “We have always worshiped da loa,” he murmured. “Dey come in many sizes and shapes. Guardians of family. Wild gods. Dem druids, dey bind da loa. Summon dem to dere aid.”

“Da loa be faithful, if you give dem reason. Strong allies, understand? But dere be a price. Dem shamans, de shadowhunters, dey commune wit both dark and light. Dere pact takes dem far from our world, for dey walk wit de loa. And when dey come to pass from dis world, dey will continue to walk on, guiding as dey were guided in life.”

“Ol’ Tae’fon, he be no shadowhunter. Too much of a loner, you see?” A hand stroked the side of Vartan’s face, rough skin against smooth, and he found himself being eased back into a seated position, Tae’fon crouching down in front of him, with his caramel eyes and crooked smile. 

“But da full moon? She be sacred to all loa. Even ol’ Tae’fon feel her call. I told you dat dere be a price to allying wit de loa. You seen what da loa give Tae’fon. Speed. Strength.” The rough fingers trailed down his neck, tucking some hair behind a pointed ear. Was that a smirk? “ Stamina . I borrow dere form, when I be in need. Only fair dat I offer dem de same.”

Vartan’s emerald gaze sharpened as he realized the position they were in, Tae’fon, all but between his legs, kneeling on the rough cave floor before him. Even kneeling, the top of the young troll’s head still reached the seated Vartan’s shoulders. "Tae'fon never be meaning ta harm ya. Ya be takin him by surprise during a full moon- takin_ de loa_ by surprise. De loa, dey not be knowin ya. Not yet. But Tae'fon can introduce ya. What do ya say?"

On a whim, Vartan reached out to trace the side of one tusk with the pad of his thumb. Tae’fon watched him with intense brown eyes the whole while, even when Vartan strayed from the tusk up to the troll’s cheek, tracing one angular cheekbone. The troll pressed into the touch, and Vartan, instead of flinching away, allowed it. 

He had seen orcs who rode wargs twice as broad as their riders and taller than the tallest of men without fear. He had always wondered what all that leashed power felt like, guided by the lightest press of one’s inner thighs. Now, he wondered if this was what that felt like, remembering the claws that had dug into his upper chest and the throaty feline growl of the beast- how its claws had left not so much as a scratch behind. 

He compared it to the silver sheen of Tae’fon’s eyes tonight, and the way he had lunged, how his fingernails had seemed more like claws, the throaty animal snarl caught in his throat. What if he’d been caught sleeping? What if Tae’fon had ripped his throat out with those sharp white teeth, spilling blood down the front of his pale chest?

“I am a fool to let you travel with me,” Vartan said. He could feel every breath the troll took beneath his hand, could hear the rush of air through his lungs and out his nose- could _ smell _the pine needle scent of him. How could he allow such a dangerous beast so close? “I am a fool,” he repeated softly.

But when Tae’fon pressed in, one of those large three-fingered hands curling around the back of Vartan’s neck, catching on strands of pale gold hair as he pulled him close, it was arousal that thrummed through him, not fear. Their foreheads touched. A tusk brushed his cheek, the beads in the troll’s hair clinking with his movement. 

“I can smell it on ya. What you be feelin. _Wantin _,” murmured the troll. When Vartan looked up, into those deep brown eyes, he found his own arousal reflected back at him, reflected and _magnified_. 

His gaze dropped to the beastly sight of the troll’s tusked mouth, a sight that no self-respecting elf would ever allow themselves to linger on, much less ache with the unfulfilled need to crush their lips against. _ Disgraceful _, whispered the ghost of propriety at the back of his mind. The other half of him argued otherwise- He was already disgraced. Ostracized. On the run. What did he have to lose, anyways?? 

“You want it,” continued Tae’fon, unaware of just how much closer every new word was pushing Vartan towards the edge of madness. “Want _ this _. Ya be safe here. Safe with Tae’fon. Let him give it to ya. Let him take care o’ ya.”

What did he have left to lose?

“Fuck it,” Vartan growled, and grabbed a handful of that thick white hair as he smashed his mouth against the troll’s in the messiest, most ill thought-out kiss of his very long life. The worst part about it was how Tae’fon growled right back and opened his mouth to the demanding sweep of Vartan’s tongue before responding in kind. It was a long night. A long enjoyable night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering adding a smutty third chapter so we can bump that rating up to E. What do you guys think?
> 
> Comments keep me going! I'd love to hear some feedback for this one.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bonus smut chapter, but from Tae'fon's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave in to the porn. (sort of porn? don't worry. more to come) Enjoy.

As he ran a light finger appreciatively down the flank of his slumbering bed partner, Tae’fon found himself contemplating the differences between elves and trolls. Vartan, well and truly worn out, hardly shifted at the touch, but after another slow, indulgent pet Tae’fon drew back nonetheless, wary of disturbing his rest. 

For one, their skin was far softer than that of a troll’s, and thinner too. Smoother. He would have called it delicate, had he not seen for himself the inner ferocity that this seemingly-delicate creature carried within himself. 

The scratches that the elf had left along his shoulders tingled pleasantly as he remembered the throaty sounds the elf had made when he put his mouth on him. No, Tae’fon knew for a fact that this elf was far sturdier than the softness of his skin would give him credit for. That inner steel was very much what had drawn him so in the first place, but now that he had experienced it at a very personal level, he found himself hungering for more. 

And to think that Captain Vartan Summerborn had just been a mark to him. What a waste it would have been to snuff out such a bright light.

Stretching, Tae’fon rose up onto one elbow so that he could better observe his sleeping partner in all of his naked glory. It had been a difficult thing (Far more difficult than Tae’fon ever would have suspected) to get the other out of his clothes, so what was the harm in taking advantage of this rare opportunity?

Smooth golden skin. Long, well-formed limbs. A graceful neck that Tae’fon’s more bestial side wanted to put teeth to, an impulse which he curbed. Somehow, he doubted the elf would react well if he woke with sharp teeth at his neck. ...Or would he?

The elf’s nipples were a dusky pink to match his tender bits. Interestingly enough, they were pierced with two delicate silver bars- an uncommon practice among elves, or so Tae’fon had gathered from the few that he’d lain with, all of whom had been just as pretty as his current befellow, but rather more unmarked. Vartan was just as lithe and graceful as they, but his skin was crisscrossed with scars. Most of them had healed smooth and pink, but there were a few gnarled ones, several of which had the look of the recently healed. One in particular drew his attention. Two inches long, it looked like a stab wound, puncturing the side of the elf’s ribs, and looked fairly recent. And it was about an inch and a half shy of where it would have slipped between Vartan’s ribs to puncture his heart. Tae’fon clicked his tongue between his teeth as he recognized the botched opportunity. Sloppy.

Running the pads of a fingertip ever so lightly across the two inch scar, Tae’fon watched the flutter of the elf’s long eyelashes as he took a slightly sharper breath. While trolls were covered with a light furring of hair, it appeared to be different for elves. Without mentioning the hair on his head, Tae’fon’s companion was smooth all over, save for the lightest, finest hairs along his arms and legs and the well-trimmed curls at his groin. The eyebrows were a different matter. Tae’fon stifled a snigger, thinking to himself that the long brows reminded him a great deal of the whiskers that sprouted along the chin and brow of a forest lynx. 

Elves were rather more like big cats than they would readily admit to. Proud creatures, elegant, deadly, and territorial. Razor claws, but with a winter coat as soft as a lady’s ermine coat. Spook it, and it’d flee into the woods, never to be seen in those parts again. But encroach on a lynx’s territory, and it’d tear your face off.

Trolls… Well, trolls weren’t supposed to like elves. There was rather too much bad blood between the two races for that. But Tae’fon, as he himself had admitted, had always been a bit of a loner. Life was short. For someone like Tae’fon, life tended to be even shorter. So what was the harm in taking whatever pleasures came his way? So long as he wasn’t on the job, he was quite content to sample the local ale, or the local girls. Or boys. Whichever came his way. Tae’fon wasn’t picky. He’d had them all. Troll, orc, human, elf, a tauren… even a pair of goblins, on one notable occasion and hadn’t _ that _been a night to remember? He was still waiting to get his hands on a worgen. The same went for a draenei, but it was on the bucket list, wasn’t it? He’d get one eventually.

The point was, for all their complaining (and _ wars _ ), sin’dorei were a great deal like their kal’dorei counterparts, not that Tae’fon was going to be the one to tell either of them. Both were long lived and prickly, looked roughly the same aside from the skin and hair tones, and had a bad habit of remembering things that should have been long ago forgotten. _ Elves _.

Pursing his lips, Tae’fon blew a gentle stream of air across the closest nipple, watching with a lewd sort of fascination as the little bud quickly stiffened. The elf shifted ever so slightly, making a grumpy sound and turning his head to the side, pulling that curtain of pale gold hair across his shoulder. There were several snarls now, but it was miraculously mostly untangled, even after the night of carousing.

Tae’fon, on the other hand, knew that he was going to spend a good ten minutes morning come combing the various sticks and leaves out of his hair, and that was _ without _mentioning the tangles. Good thing that trolls had tough scalps. Elves seemed to be more sensitive in that area. 

Vartan had come upon him hot and heavy, kissing like it was a personal vendetta, growling and scratching marks into Tae’fon’s back with those sharp nails of his, but the moment that Tae’fon had so much as gotten a hand in his hair, he’d arched and yowled, allowing his head to be tilted back so that Tae’fon could suck dark marks into the pale skin of his throat. The ears were even more sensitive, he’d learned. Grazing it with a tusk got a hiss, but putting the tip between the sharp points of his teeth- Spirits, any passing traveler would have been able to hear Vartan’s cry. They wouldn’t, however, get the pleasure of seeing the way that the elf’s cock bobbed up as Tae’fon shoved his pants down around his ankles and pushed him up against the cave wall. They wouldn’t hear the ragged whine of his panting breaths as Tae’fon coaxed him with honeyed words to press his thighs together, nor the jump in his breath the first time that Tae’fon’s cock nudged against his balls.

Tae’fon made a low sound as he thought of it again, the heavy weight of his cock resting against Vartan’s tailbone, and the soft groan the elf had made as the head nudged against his hole. _ Not this time, _ he’d told him, and Vartan had groaned as if disappointed, the muscles in his thighs jumping as Tae’fon redirected his cock to nudge between the elf’s thighs. However, he’d certainly been happy enough to growl and fuck into the saliva slick grasp of Tae’fon’s big hand when he wrapped his fingers around Vartan’s weeping cock.

The hard press of his fingers where he grabbed Vartan’s hips was still visible there, rendered into shadowy green bruising in the shape of Tae’fon’s fingertips. He didn’t feel bad about it- felt almost proud, really. His marks would all fade in a day or two, but he would keep the memories. Though, that said, he _ would _ like another chance, a parting shot at that pretty ass, if you will. ‘Not this time’, he’d said. Next time, though, (if Vartan even _ gave _him a next time) he’ll make sure that he has a bottle of oil on hand and make it a night the elf would never forget. 

Three more days to the closest port. Three more days of trekking through forest before they got out of this jungle hellhole. Not that Tae’fon had anything against jungle, but… A nice soft bed in a lively inn was sounding right nice right about now, was all he was saying. A nice soft bed, and maybe a certain elf to share that bed.

That wasn't too much to ask for, right?


End file.
